


What Happens in the Dark

by Smallerthanlife



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Amenorrhea, Anorexia Nervosa, Depression, Eating Disorder, F/M, Food Restriction, Insomnia, Institutional Abuse, Really detailed description of disordered behaviors, Suicidal Ideation, and more - Freeform, body checking, compulsive exercise, pregnancy anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallerthanlife/pseuds/Smallerthanlife
Summary: Aaiya has found the perfect way to keep herself safe from what is whispered to happen in the Gallows in the dark. The last thing she expects is for her plan to backfire so magnificently.





	1. Chapter 1

Aaiya couldn’t imagine anything lonelier than the nights in the Gallows.

It was hours before dawn still, and she lay curled on her side. She focused on breathing as slowly as she could, counting the seconds as she inhaled and exhaled. Her index finger traced the lines of the warp threads in the linen of the sheets. Up and down. Inhale and exhale. An eternity could pass and she would still be lying there, counting out her breaths. That was how long the nights had been, lately. It felt like she never slept. She knew that couldn’t be true. After all, she never remembered the distant chime of bells for every hour. Just for most of them. Because of this, she knew that she had to be sleeping at least a little.

Still, she would often arise feeling as if she had laid awake the entire night. Every agonizing moment of it.

She went to her bed each night feeling as if she was laying down to die. The chantry mothers had told her about the souls of those who were unworthy, how they would wander deep into fade after death with muddled thoughts until their souls all but disintegrated. This was a similar torture. Lying awake, praying for rest that would never come. Each second was painful.

She stopped tracing the weave of the sheets and turned onto her back. It must have been getting close to the end of curfew, but she wasn’t exactly sure what time it was. She didn’t remember hearing the last hour’s chimes. The single window didn’t even show the dim glow to hint at moonlight or dawn. But she knew the layout of the room so well she hardly needed light. Six bunks carved of unvarnished wood, and six small dressers for twelve girls. One window. One door.

Any day now, she told herself, as she searched the window for any trace of light. Any day now she would finally endure the harrowing and be moved out of the apprentice dormitories. She didn’t know if the nights would be better or worse alone. But it would be a change. She had been expecting the harrowing early, at first. After all, she was always the best student. The most devout in prayer. The most punctual to her assigned duties. But as the years passed, and as one by one the other apprentices her age were chosen before her, she’d had to bury her disappointment. Her fear. She didn’t dare ask the senior enchanters about it, least she be perceived as breaking the rules against discussing the harrowing. So she waited. Aaiya was nothing if not patient.

There was no sound from the other girls. For them, it was the deepest part of the night. Many of them, especially those early in their teenage years, would sleep for close to half the day if allowed. She wished for that kind of rest so often and with so much intensity that it burned her inside. If the nights in the Gallows were the worst that she could imagine, the oblivion of true sleep was the sweetest.  
Unable to stay still any longer, she wiggled her leg, bouncing it up and down. She tried not to make enough motion to disturb the girl above her. Everyone who had shared a bunk with her in the past had complained about the nervous motion at some point or another. The idea of bothering others, of attracting their attention in any way mortified her. Not enough, however, to make her stop. The urge was too strong. She could only hope that her bunkmate was asleep soundly enough that she wouldn’t notice the small movement that she did make. 

Finally, she heard the distant chime of the bells, five chimes in rhythmic succession. The end of the six hour “lights out” period. She signed in relief, as she sat up and threw off the covers. As she stretched out her arms, she counted to 100, and only then did she dangle her legs over the edge of the bed. She counted to 100 again, and then finally slid off the bed. Despite how slowly she had gotten up, she still felt dizzy. She tried to blink it away, as she straightened her covers. The years in the room had taught her the space heart, and she didn’t need any light to make her bed, or to slip on her shoes. Every night, she left the shoes in the same place, tucked beside her dresser. Bending down to lace them up threatened to make her dizzy enough to faint, again, and she braced herself against the wall, breathing slowly. It was especially bad today. Once the feeling had subsided to a low buzz in her head, she finished with the laces and opened the drawer that contained her few belongings. She had worn a single shift to bed, but she slipped two more over her head in layers before putting on her oldest dress. It had fit her at age 14 but now, nearly ten years later, it was too loose around but not quite long enough. As she slipped out the door, she tugged on the too-short sleeves.

Although what she was doing was technically allowable in terms of the Circle rules, it would draw questions. She couldn’t stand the idea of other people observing her inexplicable morning rituals. She had long since learned how to more or less avoid the Templars. Shift change was in an hour, so the those that patrolled the hall were always drowsy so close to the end of the night watch. It wasn’t typically hard to slip into a hallway or doorway to escape their notice. 

As she closed the door to her shared room, she took off in a brisk jog down the dim hallways. Like always, the first few strides made her heart sink. She was so exhausted. Though she had lain in bed the full six hours required each night, it had been so long since she had gotten any real rest. Despite the exhaustion, she pushed on. She wanted to stop, to collapse to the floor and catch her breath, but she couldn’t. There would be no peace for her that day if she stopped. She ran along the central hall of her floor in a squared loop, counting the laps. If she did well, she would count at least forty laps before the hour was over.

Around lap 20 , everything changed, as it usually did. She grew numb to the ache in her knees, the burning in her chest, and the dull dizziness in her head. All of her thoughts evaporated, and all she could think of was the repetitive physical motion of running. As she ran, she repeated the lap number in her head in a rhythmic chant, one syllable with each step. Twen-ty. Twen-ty. Twen-ty. Twen-ty.  
She reached 43 by the time the bells rang again, marking that an hour had passed. Once she circled back to her room, she leaned against the wall, waiting for her breathing to become even and quiet. Some of the other girls would start to wake soon, and she didn’t want to disturb them. After a few minutes, she opened the door slowly, leaving it ajar as she grabbed her change of clothes, towel, and soap and then tiptoed back out. She rushed towards the baths. Now that dawn was approaching more people would start rising. If there were too many at the baths, she wouldn’t be able to find a quiet corner where she could bathe free from prying eyes. Eyes that would pick apart the clues on her body and in her mannerisms and ask too many questions.

If there was one thing she hated, it was the questions that she could never quite seem to answer, even to herself. 

The women’s baths were completely empty when she arrived. Grateful, she moved to the corner, and did a last look over her shoulder before she stripped off her clothes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stepped into the heated water. As she sunk into it, she sighed. The warmth was like life flowing back into her, restoring her. Closing her eyes, she inventoried her body as she washed. She prodded at the sharp points of her hipbones, and then squeezed her hips, pinching at the flesh. One hand could circle her ankle, and two could circle her upper thigh. Her hands moved to her shoulders, to ensure the shape was square and not rounded where they connected with her arms. Lastly her hands ghosted over her breasts, not lingering. She was pleased when she felt only a very slight swell. In clothes, she would appear all but flat. She would be safe.

She only stayed in a short while after that, not nearly as long as she would have liked. The tower was stone and darkness, and even in the summer this was the only warmth in her day. Still, it was getting late enough into the morning that it would be crowded before long. She dressed quickly, before she had really even finished drying off. There had been a few close calls that month, but she had always at least managed to scramble out and cover herself at the sound of footsteps. Once she was dressed she wrung out her hair, and tied the tangled mess into a loose braid. She would comb it out once she got back to her room.

As she left the baths, clutching her old clothes, her heart sank. At the end of the hallway a Templar walked towards her. The first instinct that came to her mind was to walk in the other direction, but that way was a dead end. It would cause more trouble that it would solve. She took a breath and walked towards him, looking down, hoping that he would ignore her as she passed. She was barely a few strides away from him when she couldn’t help herself and she glanced up. She almost didn’t recognize him. Mostly she kept to herself, and there was little reason for their paths to cross. But when she realized the Templar walking towards her was the Knight-Captain of the Gallows, she froze. Frowning, he closed the last few steps until he stopped directly in front of her.

“It’s early. What brings you up at this hour? Assigned to breakfast duty?” he asked. He wasn’t meeting her eyes. It seemed that he was staring at her waist. Aaiya resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

“I…I was just at the baths. It’s an hour and a quarter past the end of curfew,” she said. His eyes flicked to her wet hair and the bundled clothes in her arms, and then met her eyes and raised an eyebrow. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t defended herself. The last thing she wanted was to be remembered as argumentative.

“Your name?” he asked, stepping even closer to her. 

“Aaiya,” she whispered, nearly breathless.

“You haven’t been harrowed,” he said. It wasn’t a question. She still wore the clothing that marked her as an apprentice. “How old are you?”

“Twenty three,” she said, shame burning her cheeks.

“Twenty three and not been harrowed,” he said, shaking his head. “Why?” He brought his hand to the hollow of her throat, tracing the line of her collarbone. As he did so he hooked his finger under the neckline of her dress, baring her shoulder. Aaiya took in a sudden breath, a soft sound that was somewhere in between a gasp and a whimper. The tension in her spine wound even tighter.

“I…I can’t say, ser. It isn’t my decision to make,” she said, frozen in place. He didn’t seem to hear her. With her shoulder still exposed, he was studying her. In that moment, every horrific whisper she had ever heard about what happened in the darkest corners of the Gallows flooded into her mind.

“Right you are,” he said, too abruptly. He drew back his hand, and stepped out of the way gesturing down the hall. “Move along now.” She scurried away, going as fast as she could manage without actually running. As she turned the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder. He stood in the same spot she had left, still watching. 

Back at the room, she combed her wet hair in the dark, as she paced. There was the slightest glow around the horizon, and it would be dawn soon enough. After working her hair free of tangles, she braided it, evenly and tightly this time. Her hair would never do what she wanted it to. No matter how much she tried to brush it straight, it was fluffy and disheveled, with whispers of waves. She envied the girls who had flat, neat hair that could look tidy even laying straight down their backs. Her hair would never look tidy, no matter how hard she tried. It was just another thing about her to draw attention.

She tried not to think about what had happened in the hallway. It was the Knight-Captain who had noticed her, of all people. None of the others would do more than give her a pitying look as she walked by, hunched over. Why him? Why now? And why did he pull aside her dress like that? He hadn’t exposed any of her breast, so surely it wasn’t a lascivious act. But still, that look in his eyes… That look had made her feel sick.

When another of the girls who shared the room finally awoke, she paid no attention to Aaiya, as she paced and fiddled with her hair. No one typically seemed to pay much attention to her at all, which was a relief, as far as she was concerned. But it did make her encounter with the Knight-Captain even more puzzling. The other girl dressed, with a yawn, and tied up her shoes. Breakfast would be prepared by the time the girl got down to the kitchens. Aaiya thought of boiled eggs, still steaming on the inside as she broke them open. Of fresh bread and oats boiled with milk. They might even be lucky enough to have fruit. It was summer, after all, and in the middle of the early harvest. The fruit would still be chilled from the cold of the cellars…

Even as she imagined the food, her stomach turned. She closed her eyes, circling her hands around her ribs, and squeezing. _Safe_ , she told herself. _You have to keep yourself safe._

____

____

The dizziness was like a physical presence, surrounding her, floating alongside her as she headed in the opposite direction of the dining area. She needed prayer far more than she could ever need breakfast.

The dim library was even quieter at that hour than the hallways. She knelt in a hidden corner, her robe the only barrier between her knees and the warmth-sapping stone. And she prayed. She prayed for her filthy heart, her gluttonous body, and her lost, wandering soul. As usual, she only felt silence in response. It was fitting. Others talked of warmth in their bodies, burning in their chest, and the voice of Andraste in their mind. But not her. Even silence was better than the shame that poured over her at times, so powerful that it must be from a divine source. If the Maker would at least ignore her as she prayed, instead of sending censure to her heart, she could hardly ask for more. That morning, however, she dared send up a petition, dared asking something other than that she be cleansed from sin. 

“Please,” she said aloud, voice lower than even a whisper. The priestesses sometimes said that spoken prayers had more power than the ones kept in thought. “Please. Please let him forget about me. Let my harrowing come. Let me prove myself. Please.”


	2. Chapter 2

_17 years ago._

__

_Aaiya trembled as she sat huddled in her bed with the rough blanket around her shoulders. Between her discovery by the Templars, the journey to the circle, and the massive, lonely halls of the Gallows, she didn’t have any tears left to give. More than anything, she longed for her mother. “Oh, Aaiya,” she would say after one look at her upset face. She would scoop her up in her arms, wrap her in her familiar, soft blanket, and tuck her into bed with a cup of hot herbal tea. “Life is always a little brighter after good sleep and good tea.” When she had worked up the courage to ask the Templars, with their glittering, frightening armor, when she would be able to see her mother, they hadn’t answered her. She asked person after person, and not a single one had answered._

_The other girls in the room seemed so much older. So confident. She’d never been around this many human children all at once. Certainly never had the chance to talk or play with them. Would they ignore her? Laugh at her? Call her names? As she worried, a girl came up to her and sat beside her bed. Aaiya stared at her hair. It was beautiful. The color was the darkest black she had ever seen, and it was so curly that it floated around her head like a cloud._

_“I’m Nadine,” she said, simply. “I’m almost nine. How old are you?” She scooted beside her, so that they both leaned against the wall, facing the room. They sat so close that their shoulders were touching. It was long seconds before Aaiya could speak._

_“Seven,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and sore, and her voice cracked._

_Nadine nodded, knowingly, taking in Aaiya’s red eyes. “When you’re almost nine, it won’t be so scary,” she said. “I promise.” After looking around, Nadine reached under Aaiya’s blanket and found her hand, leaving behind a cool and slightly sticky half sphere. Aaiya opened her hand and looked beneath the blanket, frowning. Sitting on her palm was half of a peeled orange. Her eyes widened._

_"Where did you get this?” she asked, peeling off a segment to discreetly pop in her mouth. She’d only seen the exotic fruit a handful of times, much less had an entire half all to herself._

_“Stole it from the kitchens,” she said, grinning. “Probably for someone important. Certainly don’t give them to us often.”_

_Despite the fear curling into her soul, Aaiya cracked a thin smile and popped another piece of orange into her mouth, relishing the sweet taste as it burst against her tongue._

~~~  
The lentils were over-cooked. Aaiya pushed a piece of carrot around the bowl of stew, trying to avoid coating it in the sheen of oil floating across the liquid’s surface as she fished it out. Tenderly, she brought it to her lips. As she chewed, she dropped the spoon to the bowl and sighed, shifting on the bench. Her body ached from the hours she had spent assigned in the laundry, standing and folding clothing. At least she wasn’t on rotation to wash the clothes, bent over a tub of hot water and a washboard. After the second time she had fainted over the washtub in as many days, the supervisor in the laundry had taken her off of the washing rotation. She picked up the spoon again, searching for the next piece of carrot. Once the carrots were gone, she moved on to the celery. She began last on the lentils, split open and soggy. They were too soft to scoop out one-by-one reliably, but she did her best. 

Across the dining hall, she saw a Templar approach a kitchen worker. He spoke to her, briefly, before she shook her head, scurrying off with an empty pot. The Templar moved on to a senior enchanter, who had just sat down to his meal. This time he nodded, eyes scanning the room until he made eye contact with her and gestured in her direction. The Templar followed his gaze straight to her. Aaiya froze, spoon still in hand, and he approached her.

“Aaiya?” he asked, and stopped next to her, looking her up and down. He was young, probably belonging to the first couple of Templar ranks. In fact, although few would guess looking at the two of them side-by-side, he was almost certainly younger than she was. 

“Yes. I’m Aaiya,” she said, unable to keep eye contact. He glanced to her partially-eaten soup, and then back at her face. She stood, gesturing down at her food in an unspoken question. 

“Leave it,” he said, gruffly, and her heart sank. As poorly prepared as it was, she didn’t know when they’d next be serving a meal that she could stomach. But she nodded, and climbed out over the bench, nearly tripping in her haste and nervousness

As they walked, her mind spun with questions she could not ask. Where was he taking her? What had she done wrong? Then, at the back of her mind, a thought sprung into being, unbidden. Perhaps this Templar was bringing her to her Harrowing. Was it finally time? Now her heart raced with budding excitement along with the fear. Although she tried to squash it, the thought blossomed. He brought her to a part of the tower that was unfamiliar to her, as it was forbidden to unaccompanied mages of her rank. It was a place where Templars lived and worked on any clerical duties. Though she mostly looked down as they passed, she could feel the cold, unwelcome eyes on her. 

 

They stopped in front of a door, and the Templar opened it gesturing for her to go inside. She felt the tips of her fingers tingle as she walked inside to see not only First-Enchanter Orsino, but the Knight-Captain and Knight-Commander as well. She gaped. All three of them, the three most important people in the Gallows, all here for her?

She tried to think of something to say, but could do nothing but stand there and fight the sudden urge to vomit.

"Aaiya, is it?” Meredith said, from behind her desk. 

“Yes…yes, Ser,” she stuttered. She looked up to the Knight-Captain, and once again saw the look in his eyes from when they had met in the hallway, days ago. Like he was fascinated and disgusted all at once. She turned her attention back to Meredith as she spoke again.

“Well, Aaiya,” she said. “I’m not going to coddle you. I’m not going to sugar-coat the situation. Understand?” Aaiya had assumed the question to be rhetorical, but Meredith stared at her, waiting. 

“I understand,” she whispered. Her toes traced nervous circles inside her shoe as she endured the burn of their stares.

“You are the oldest mage in the Gallows that has not yet undergone the Harrowing, Aaiya,” she said, without any further preface. “Do you know why that is?”

Aaiya heard the words, but couldn’t understand them. The oldest? Of all the mages in the Circle? Surely that couldn’t be true. She shook her head slowly.

“There have been multiple high-ranking members of the Circle who have been quite vocal that you should not be permitted to undergo the Harrowing. That you should be subject to the Rite instead.” Meredith’s eyes bore into her as the words hit her like a physical blow.

“Tranquility...,” she breathed, barely above a whisper. “Why? Who?” She was trembling now, hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

“Exactly who is not important,” Meredith said. “But…know that at least one of them was among your teachers. A fellow mage.” Aaiya sputtered, unable to fight the urge to defend herself.

“But, I…I’ve always done everything I can,” she said, too quickly. “Poured everything I have into my studies. Followed all the rules. I just… don’t understand.” 

“That is the sticking point,” Meredith conceded. “For every person that has spoken against you, there has been another two to defend you just as strongly. To find such…intense controversy on the subject of a mage’s Harrowing is rare.” 

Aaiya could hear her own heartbeat pound through her. 

“Surely that is worth something,” Orsino said, frowning as he stared at Meredith. She ignored him.

“You isolate yourself,” Meredith continued. “Though you are a brilliant student, you barely speak to anyone. You have few, if any friends. You pace the halls, sometimes for hours. Though you never miss a class or service, you are rarely seen attending meals. Even in the heat, you shiver. And of course there is your… obvious physical state.” Meredith leaned forward in her seat before continuing. “Isolation, exhaustion, restlessness, a sensation of cold, and even denying oneself food,” she said. “Wouldn’t you say that those traits are the very essence of despair?”  
It was a long moment before Aaiya understood.

“You think I’m possessed by a Despair Demon,” she said, realizing what they meant as she said it. She felt almost detached from her body.

“Not necessarily possessed,” the Knight-Captain broke in, stepping forward. “But likely under the influence. And if not, definitely susceptible.” At this, Aaiya could think of nothing to say.

“We need to see the extent of the situation,” Meredith said, after a pause.

“What do you mean?” Aaiya asked, biting her lip.

“Your dress. Remove it,” she said. Aaiya’s vision threatened to turn white, as she was suddenly overwhelmingly dizzy.

“Surely, that isn’t necessary…” Orsino began, fire in his eyes. Meredith raised a hand and he fell silent.

“With these allegations, modesty is the least of her concerns,” she said, and then turned back to Aaiya. “Go on.”

Aaiya, looked between Cullen and Orsino, tears welling up in her eyes. It was ridiculous, this reaction. She hadn’t cried in years. Not since Nadine had…disappeared. A familiar stab of pain twisted inside her at the thought, and it only worsened the tears. Orsino sighed deeply, and dropped into a chair, resting his head in his hands.

“Go ahead, child,” he said, though the venom still in his voice was obvious.

Aaiya stood there, frozen, unable to force her traitorous limbs to obey. 

“Shall I call for my men to bring you to the dungeons to search you there?” Meredith said, as she waited. 

Aaiya shook her head, and finally forced her trembling hands to reach behind her back to undo the tie to her dress, and then to lift the hem to her waist and then over her head. She held the dress bundled in her arms and stood before them, in her shifts. 

“The chemise as well,” Meredith insisted. “We need to see what we are dealing with.” 

Glancing up at her, at her disgusted expression, Aaiya suddenly knew this was not only about practicality. This was about humiliation. About power. The realization almost took her breath away, and frightened her to her core. The tears that were welling up in her eyes now spilled down her cheeks freely. As she removed her shifts, one after another, she folded them and set them on the desk in front of her. The motion was smooth and practiced, from her years working in the laundry. From the corner of her eye, she could see the Knight-Captain raise an eyebrow at the multiple layers. At the last shift, she hesitated, looking up at Meredith in a silent plea. She ignored her, and only stared expectantly. This last shift, she could not fold. Considering her size, she had no need for any undergarments to support her breasts. Even a single shift and dress provided more than enough modesty to conceal her shape. Now, she regretted the lack. As she pulled that final shift over her head, she let it dangle from one clenched fist as she crossed her arms over her chest. She stared at the ground, silently weeping as she stood, naked but for her shoes and smallclothes. Meredith got up, pushing back her chair, and walked in front of the desk. Aaiya could not bear to look up as her gauntleted hands took the shift from where it dangled, and set it on the desk on top of her other clothes. Painfully slowly, she circled her, taking in every detail of Aaiya’s body that she had spent so long hiding. Once she had circled her, she leaned back against the desk.

“If you aren’t under the influence of a Despair Demon, then please, tell us why,” she said, gesturing to her body. 

“I’ve always been small,” she said, and it was a lie. Her physical development had been precocious, and by the time she was 14 she had been quite curvy compared the other elf girls her age. But they would have no cause to remember that. “And then, when I was 16, I get very sick and lost a lot of weight. I almost died.” This was the truth. “I’ve haven’t been able to keep on weight since then.”

Orsino took the shift, which lay haphazardly over her other neatly folded clothes, and handed it to her, looking slightly to the side. Meredith didn’t make any move to stop him. Aaiya took it and scrambled to get dressed again.

“Have the healers ever found any medical reason for your current condition?” Orsino asked, thoughtfully as she dressed. 

Aaiya shook her head, wiping away the last of the tears and straightening her clothes. 

“Perhaps that is our next step then,” he said looking hopefully at Meredith. “An examination by our healers. If there is a physical reason for this, then you have your answer. At least part of it.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” the Knight-Captain said, and Aaiya glanced at him, confused. This meeting must have been precipitated by him, after all. He must have noticed her thinness and her age, in their short conversation, and brought her case to Meredith. And now he was supporting Orsino’s defense of her? It didn’t add up.

“Fine,” Meredith said, stepping back behind her desk. “We schedule an examination by our senior healer. Once that is over, we’ll make our decision.” She began scrawling down notes on the papers in front of her, and then looked up. “Cullen, have someone escort Aaiya back to her dormitory.”

“I’m headed that direction,” he said, moving towards the door. “You can follow me.” 

 

They walked in silence back down the unfamiliar hallways. From glances out of her peripheral vision, she could tell he watched her. When they reached the door of her dormitory, he left her without a word. Aaiya opened the door and walked inside, lost in thought.

Something wasn’t right about the meeting. The three of them, all busy beyond imagining, had spent time to discuss their suspicions with her? Why was she afforded such a privilege? When the Templars decided that a mage was a danger, they didn’t ask for the mage’s opinion. And yes, the Knight-Commander had mentioned the unusual controversy of her case, but it seemed something more than that. 

Her stomach lurched, reminding her of her unfinished dinner. Although she had been reluctant to leave her food at first, she now felt unbearably full. She hurried to the privies, hardly daring to breathe. She didn’t quite know if it was on purpose, or if it was involuntary. The line was blurred, nowadays. But once inside, she leaned over and vomited almost silently until she was empty and numb. She wandered back like a ghost, ready to lay down in her bed for yet another night of torment. 

Perhaps it would be one of the last nights she would endure with the capacity to suffer at all. As she pulled the covers over herself, she wasn’t completely sure if that idea was as distressing as it had always been.

That scared her most of all.


End file.
